Tomatoes ripen on the stem;
Apples hang down low.
Summer riches now and then.
From seeds that once I sowed.
Plant your seeds with care and grace.
Nurture them with love.
Put them in where you have space,
As rain falls from above.
Slowly, and in their own right time,
They will manifest
The form with which they were endowed.
Richness comes at last.
Time for sowing,time for birth
Time for love of life.
Time to scatter seeds abroad.
Time to end our strife.
![Fritillaria sewerzowii Green_15-2 [1024x768]](https://wordscat.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/fritillaria-sewerzowii-green_15-2-1024x768.jpg)
Photo by Mike Flemming 2015 copyright.Publishe with permission
She wanted to come up with a mnemonic
For remembering the form of a sonnet
She cried AB twice CD
CD,EF twice ‘fore G.
For GH is the last couplet,innit? .
She wanted to write for the dummies
Whose speech veers from f*ck to cor l*mmy.
Vernacular they call it
to which we cry,no sh*t,twit
My eyes, like my cup, are now r*nny.
Mirth seems to rise from my studies.
As the breath rises up from our bodies.
Our breath mingles each day
From your way to my airway.
Our lungs, if not minds, are all buddies
After all,it had been a caesarean birth,and in the desert.
Stitched together by thorns,I had lain by the rock
Weak and pale with grief.
Late her cries awoke me.Her eyes opened and she smiled.
Now I am on a better place
where doctors
can stitch me up.
Scar tissue and spikes of gorse in flesh
wounded by the trial.
but nevertheless a birth
See the edges drawn together and the flesh connect.
Draw one side over the other to make the link strong.
I placed 29 anemones by her bed
Whispered,I am here.
Now they stitch me again as if the wound keeps opening
and the holy one who did it prays on.
This time it seems the thread is stronger and holds me.
Holds me.
He said,iamb not myself today
You seemed unaware,
The anapest will soon come in
You seem not to care.
The trochee sang
The dactyls rang
Fry gave them a glare.
For spondee-licious he was not
Neither here nor there;
He said again,iamb he you seek
Here and everywhere.
A pyrrhic victory for rules
Slang for souls with flair.
Iamb,iamb,iamb,iamb
Ic pentameters dare
@ 2015-03-30 – 18:42:49
Shape and form are here become
Colour which we dream upon.
The eye may feast and turn and graze
In the colours of this maze.
May your life be coloured joy.
And so I pass to you this toy.
The brightness of this sweet spring light,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight.
I love to take these earthly pleasures,
To fill my mind with precious treasure.
The conversations with my friends,
The closeness only death will end,
To share my life with those who care,
How could we have better fare?
Those who suffer pain and grief,
From whom love’s stolen by a thief,
Let us take them to our hearts,
So their healing path can start.
Those who fear friendship and love,
Who set themselves at too low worth,
Do they know how courage grows
Through acceptance of our woes?
Life is tragi-comedy.
Love may be the remedy.
Yet if we give our hearts away
We shall have grief and pain to pay.
But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Of our whole life we’ll be bereaved.
So choose your path with care and thought;
Never be by lies distraught.
Each human is as gold to me,
So with great love, I end my plea.
No sight is like the rising of sun
When promises of dreams seem clear and still
My heart though sore ,can fancy love has come
Without hard times and exercise of will.
No morning is without new dawn of hope
When all our conflicts may be put aside.
Imagination is far flung in scope,
Never noting dreams may fraughtly lie.
No love is like my long lost love for you
Once known,once felt,it settles in the heart.
Yet I do believe love can be found anew
But only when the lost true love departs.
So bother me no more with reveried bliss.
Go leave me with my life,though all’s amiss
When my love lies and doom hangs over head,
When life runs like a river to the sea
Then shall I take new lovers to my bed,
And with their carnal touch consoled be?
When my love lies,and breaks my tender heart.
When life seems grey and rocks bestrew my path.
Then, shall I my life of evil start?
And on this world shall I bestow my wrath?
When true loves lie and wrecks all loyalty.
When puzzlement makes all my world seem mad.
Then I shall upend causality;
Console this world with deeds which make me glad.
For I have love’s own child inside my soul
And I shall tend her till at last she’s whole
!Among its many counter-intuitive ideas, quantum theory proposed that energy was not continuous but instead came in discrete packets (quanta) and that light could be described as both a wave and a stream of these quanta.”Extract from article in Guardian.
Energy comes in packets usually known in Britain as biscuits.
Wandering through galleries,
Sepia paintings of pines
And faces
Pain came to the emptiness once my heart,
I sat picturing screaming Popes and babies.
Eastward, looking for fresh instruction,
My mind unpleated,like a pair of curtains
~Hung out to dry in equinoxal gales.
The bells of Satan’s cell phone
Rang again,startling in this silence.
“You had your smear done yet?”
“It’s me,hinny”
“I’m having coffee here in “Costa’s.”
Then I awoke,a man appeared.
How apposite,I need you,Ludwig!
I can’t fly my kite.
In the Science Museum,the mirror cracked
And from it stars flew out,
Adorning cars and bicycles and buses.
The building gently fell into its own reflection.
People flew out like gasping rockets,
Illuminating the blankness,
Calling “Is today the day?.”
Stan was in his front gardenpolishing the wheelie bins with lavender wax polish.
He was not very happy as the garden was only 10 feet by 12. so the huge wheelie bins ruined it.When he got to the third one the lid popped open and out jumped his next door neighbour “Adulterous Annie”.
Hello,Stan” she whispered.”Where’s Mary now ?”
“Why?”Stan muttered into the back of her neck which he licked as he like her salty taste.
“I was thinking, these bins are so big,we could both get inside one.It would make a change1!”.”What a strange idea” he replied philosophically.however age was no bstacle where love was involved. if you catch my drift.
Soon Stan and Anne were in the big green recycling bin.Stan being 81 had shrunk somewhat so he took up less space than Annie did.He allowed her to kiss his left eyelid.What a lovely feeling.
Alas, all too soon,as they say, they heard Mary’s bicycle bell.She was getting faster amd faster.As she wheeled her bikeup the 30 yard long front path to the porch she heardmurmurings and mutters,
She lifted up the green plastic lid and saw the two loverscovered in cuttings from the privet hedge.
“What the bleedin’hell are you doing in there?”she shouted mellifluously.
Well,it’s hard to explain,……………but Stan was wondering about a green funeral” Anne said mischievously.
“Funeral ,my hat!” Mary said coldly.”Get out at once”
“Don’t speak to me like that” Stan beseeched her brazenly.
“Well,it’s a shock to find your husband in the bin with another woman!”
“Wouldn’t it be more of a shock if he was in the bin with a man,or even a sheep?”
“Schmann or Schwommann,sheep,,it’s immaterial.
“Hurry,get out,quickly before the school exit time.what will all the mums think as they go by?”
But poor Stan could not get out,He was stuck.Oh,my!what an odd phrase.
“Have you got your mobile on you?” “Yes,it’s here in my bag.
“You’d better call 999” “What a brilliant idea!”
Soon Dave the paramedic arrived.
Mary showed him Stan’s situation.
Ever resourceful ,Dave was not bothered though the NHS budget might be getting cut.
He tied some rope round Stan’s waist and between the three of them and Emile the cat and his friend Elizabeth, they managed to haul him out.
Annie stood weeping with shame.Her silvery blue eyeshadow was beginning to run mixed with tears and black water soluble mascara from Chanel of Paris and London. Her new coral lipstick from Clinique was not as non-allergenic as she hope.Never mind,it gave her lips that bee stung look that many men admire.It reminded Stan of his boyhood days playing near High Force Waterfalls in upper Teesdale….Teesdale ,still an undiscovered and undervalued part of England,Contact the English Touring Board for more information. Holiday Loans available from Thwaites of Stockton and Darlington at only 1% interest.
Mary gave Annie a large Kleenex tissue,”Come indoors,honey, and I’ll make you some Ceylon tea.It’s been the most thrilling event of my entire life and I’ve photographed you with my new Nokia camera phone[Prices available on request from The Catphone Warehouse,Teesside,Northern England,comes in pink and pink and…pink?How I love pink!]
I’m going to send some to the local paper.
Stan staggered upstairs covered in bits of privet ,lettuce and cabbage hearts, and carrot tops,not to mention a few dozen banana skins and a few potato peelings.
What an afternoon.[Please contact the society for the care and protection of vegetables if you wish to make a complaint about this story.}
“That’s the last time I climb into a wheelie bin”,he thunked
“Next time we’ll use the cardboard and newspaper wheelie bin” he proclaimed.
Stan was standing on a small step ladder washing his windows yet again with a clean blue microfibreand elastane cloth and some windolene he had bought in Tesco’s
I don’t know why I bother,he whispered to Emile, who as usual was watching from the back of the sofa,which he was “milking” gently with his paws.
With all the rain,the outside of the windows was besmirched by leaves and bits of mud.A wiser man might have left it alone but Stan had O.C.D which made him very jumpy if he failed to carry out certain tasks… so he made use of it in house chores and baking perfect cakes and buns..and in taking snaps of frogs,birds and flowers.Mental disorder can be useful sometimes.
All of a sudden he heard clattering footsteps…
Up the garden path walked two women dressed in the latest style of 3/4 length silk cargo trousers with matching blouses, all in a subtle shade of violet.Except for their faces,of course,which were both a light shade of beige and they had Revlon peach blusher on their cheeks and Chanel scarlet lipstick…on their lips.They also wore dark blue nail varnish from Rimmel
“Good morning,Stan!” called one of them.”We are Anne‘s cousins from Pittsburgh.She told us to call on you today.”
“Well,I never knew wearing expensive makeup ran in the genes… can there be any other explanation?”Stan cried.
“Anne told us we must wear it all the time in the UK.”
she responded,”even in bed.”
“You seem a bit fast,” he answered,
“I’m not sure I want to go to bed and as you seem like identical twins,which of you should I bed?”
They burst out laughing….oh,what a noise!
“I was just saying what she told us,not meaning that you need to go to bed with us.In fact, we sleep together at night.”
“As children that would be normal,but don’t you think you should separate now?People might think you are gay!”
“We never worry about stuff like that… and by the way,this is Ruby and I am Rosie.”
“I’ll put on the kettle and make you some coffee,” the dear man said in a kind tone of voice,before he went into the kitchen and swallowed a handful of red and green striped valium tablets.
“I wish the psychiatrist would give me some therapy.I don’t like taking valium but I seem to be having visions again… and I don’t want to get worse..I never heard Anne mention cousins in the USA. I wonder if CBT would help me?”he said to Emile.
“I see visions all the time,” the cat replied in a matter of fact and calm way.
“Do they not make you feel anxious?”Stan called.
“No,I just watch them drift by,” purred Emile.”I enjoy them.”
“I wish these two women would drift off.”responded the weary yet charming old man.Ruby and Rosie came inside and admired the kitchen where colanders in many colours hung from the wall into which someone had knocked a few dozen nails.
“”Why do you have sixteen colanders?”asked Rosie.
“Why do you think everything has a reason?”Stan replied.
“I can see you studied philosophy,” Ruby cried disconsolately.
“No,I have just read Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein eight times,” he quipped merrily.
“Wow,is it not boring?”
“No.it’s so good it put me off reading lesser books.And I love to understand things,”
Just then Stan tripped on the rug and fell over unconsciously
.Emile picked up his mobile with its full Qwerty key pad and texted 999.
“Why are you texting?”asked Ruby.
“Well,it difficult to mioaw down a phone and now I have this Blackberry it’s so easy…. why even a mouse could do it.”
“Do you know many mice,Emile?” enquired Ruby wistfully
Rosie slowly made some instant coffee, walking around poor Stan ,unconscious on the floor…and she and her twin sat down on some white Swedish chairs at the old oak table and drank it,gazing shyly at the huge weigelia blooming outside in the shed.
The front door opened and in ran Dave,the bisexual paramedic.
“Is it you,Emile.Have you lost your hankie again.Are you sad?” he moaned nervously.
“No,it’s Stan… but at least he’s not broken the chair”
Stan came too and looked up…
“Oh, lovely,I feel much better for that nap” he said brightly.
“Don’t you have a bed to sleep in?” said Ruby querulously.”I like your mean expression,my dear man.”
“Now,look here said Stan,”I’m too old for any monkey business.
Besides,I don’t know if you are real.”
“We just wondered why you slept on the floor.”
“A man has to do what a man has to do,” came the mystifying response.
“Now that Dave is here,he can take one of you and I’ll take the other.”
“Where will you take us”the twins asked delightfully….
“Do you fancy the cinema… they are showing Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday”
“Don’t tell me he’s still on his summer holiday!” riposted Ruby
“Let’s go in the ambulance.I’ll lie on the stretcher” offered Rosie generously..
“I’ll lie by you,”said Dave.” and Emile can drive.Stan and Ruby can lie on the floor.”
Sometimes life seems so simple,it’s rather like a dream controlled..
Controlled by what,asked Emile,clutching his Blackberry.
But answer came there none…
And that was very odd because.. they’d vanished every one…
To read more,why not take out a subscription?At just £100 a day,it’s value for money…as money no longer has any value!
You must want to write before you begin but maybe a sonnet is not for a complete beginner.Indeed you may not know what it is.That means you’ve not read much and it does puzzle many writers and teachers who are sent poetry written by keen amateurs who have never read a poem for years.You can start easy with ballads and simople verse.
Writing a sonnet is a challenge and it took me afew years to even try.However it is a very good form for expressing grief,love aand the pains of life.If you read Shakespeare you know the best.But even if ours are not so good,writing is beneficial to our hearts and souls and it can connect us to other similar people all over the world for huge numbers of people do write as a hobby.I found that out on a website with a big membership.I think people in the USA so more keen to write than people here in the UK.Sometimes we sit and watch TV for hours but it’s more fun and pleasure to write or draw or make something like a lovely meal or some good quality cakes with less sugar and purer ingredients.All of these can connectus to others whereas passive acticity is a kind of death of overdone.
The best part about writing poems is that it seems to make it easier for us to understand poems we read either modern or classic and to admire the brilliance of the metaphysical poets [ my love] or enjoy the humour of Pam Ayres or the Englishness of Betjeman or the wonders of Russian poetry written under severe strictures in Stalin’s time
I am offering you some tips based on my own experiences as a beginner writer of poetry.I wanted to write a sonnet so I used the first line of Gray’s Elegy to get the desired number of “Feet” in the line:
“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day” is the first line.
So I could copy that and produce
“My heart‘s as lonely as a wounded bird”
I find once you have a first line it is often not too hard to write a second
My heart’s as lonely as wounded bird
That’s been deserted by its native flock.
Now in those two linesI have compared the heart to a sick bird left behind perhaps when birds migrate for the winter.So this will give rise to more comparisons as I continue
My heart’s a lonely as wounded bird
That’s been deserted by its native flock.
And so its plaintive cries are never heard
And silence seems its very soul to mock.
As you get further into the sonnet you are restricted by the form and also by needing to connect symbolically with what you have already written
s
My heart’s as lonely as wounded bird
That’s been deserted by its native flock.
And so its plaintive cries are never heard
And silence seems its very soul to mock.
What choices has this weary bird to make;
When chirpings used for contact are not heard?
When silent are the trees around the lake
Where alien beings care not for a bird.
No tears nor wailing help when I’m alone alone
Unwillingness makes such wounds hard to bear.
[Shall it sing out and sigh until it’s done?
[{Shall I sing out and sigh until I’m done?]
[its unknown anguish brings no help nor care.]
[My unknown anguish brings not help nor care]
For nature has no kindness in the end,
My heart is shivering as the dark descends.
I have not done any editing as yet.Usually I do quite a lot but I wanted you to see my first attempt.
I have now done some editing…see critique and bracketing above
Critique of sonnet
It was about the heart,the bird was only a symbolic representation so it should have returned to the heart more explicitly.
Too many words like and,so,then,when, etc
I
This is a good website.I was very nervous about writing sonnets but I have begun to enjoy this now.However some are better as others and I believe it is partly due to the topic one chooses.And sonnets are not generally a good place for humorous writing.
He loves me more than his wife herself
he loves me as much as if I were his own voter
He says he loves me and needs to rewire me.
He is burning with a liar whiter than the sun.
Am I his bete amoureuse or do I fail to blunderstand French.
Extract:To me, it’s a sign of trust, to tell someone when what they did or said hurt you. That’s not a thing you tell people when you think they won’t care. Or worse, will use it to hurt you more.
I’m not a nice person.
I’m not a good person.
I’m not a kind person.
This isn’t to say that I don’t ever try to be any of these three things. I do, especially the last two.
It’s more to say that, for me, surviving in this cissexist, racist, ableist, heteronormative, classist, often fucked up world of ours has involved rejecting the idea that “good” and “bad” are static states of being. I will never be a “good person” because, to me, “good” is not something that you achieve. It’s an ongoing process that never ends.
It is, in fact, almost impossible not to be doing bad things as well as good when you are human and therefore flawed. Especially when you are part of a messed up system, as we all are.
This, to me, is why it’s important to call out bad behavior, or hurtful language, or even…
View original post 687 more words
You are too prissy,Mary,Stan told his dear wife.Everybody uses four letter words now except you.
What is so special about four letters,she replied mathematically.
I’m not sure quite why;it’s an historical accident ,said St*n thoughtfully*
Is it because they are expletives s h*ve to sound like bullets being fired.For example
“F*ck off, you old sh*t bag”
Sounds different fr*m
“Kindly go away,old thing.”said M*ry wonderingly.
That is true,said her 98 year old husband with a snigger,
So why do you want me to swear?
Well,now you have a tablet computer and a chromebook you need an i phone and you need to talk like the young do as w*ll.
I phones are very expensive and you know me,I’m cr*p at finding where I leave the f*cking things.
Now,Mary,control yourself.I am your husband
What the h*ll has that got to do with it.
You should be very n*ce to me.
So whom do you w*sh me to swear at?
I’m not sure.Maybe when you sing in the kitchen you could alter the words of the songs..
As I waltzed out to f*ck at 8 pm
The lambs were coming home and sucked my thumb
I heard a neighbour complain of all this cr*p
So I’m going to Waterstone’s for to buy a new m*p
Something wrong with the meter h*re methinks,said St*n.
And somehow,swearing does not seem to blend with your personality and gentle quiet nature,M*ry,darling.
Cut the cr*p.It’s too la*e now.I’ve become addicted.
But how many f*ur letter words are there?I might find it limiting.
Some fourn letter words are not swearing
like
t*me,k*nd,w*nd,fl*ff,hair,l*ps,n*ps,tw*t
but some are like
f8ck,sh*t,cr*p,tw*t.
So twit is ok at your age but twat is not,the demure old l*dy replied.Anyway don’t you kn*w any m*re?
D*mn!
Perhaps we’ll h*ve to buy a b*ok and learn s*me new ones but to wh*m shall we say them
Would your mistress,Annie kn*w?
Well,I can ask her.
But is it sensible?
If women w*nt equal rights it’s not the s*me as being compelled to use words that only workmen us*d to use.
It’s like saying we can’t have public conveniences for women;they will have to use the gents!
What will they use the gents for, one of them queried.
For sensual gratification and relieving tension.
Is it legal?
Anything is legal as long as you d*n’t h*ve to pay!
That reminds me of Russell’s Paradox.
Oh,my God,don’t say you are on to Russell now!
It’s m*re l*ke he is on to me.
Whatever do you m*an,St*n said.
He is trying to invade my m*nd.
Well,make it password protected!!
How do I do th*t?
Go online and f*nd out.
Perhaps we can password protect yo*r tongue to st*p you saying all those words like tw*t*
But I don’t w*nt to st*p.
In that case you must invent some m*re or th*y get boring you see.
Flaff off you crum!
Eff doff you runt!
Don’t you leak to me like trat
Why egger nuts?
Clean your organ in the mawnin.
What is so runny about swap?
Goody bell,the vicar is b*er!
Lie down and he won’t bee us on the door!
It’s very dirty down h*re.
Get the vacuum out!
The vacuum is clean,it’s the carpet that’s full of nap!
I blame you,
For what?
Basting my rhymes in divine.
Well,it’s time for our wee now.
Go and but the skittle on the stove.
By George,I feel terry funicular!
I’ll put some neatener in your wee.
I’ll c*me here again!
Stop that askance!
Can’t I r*ke a glance?
Show you can pot?
Pot wh*t?
The wee pot.
You are very mod!
Blank you so crutch.
Puck off,it’s t*me for twerk.
Oh,my d**r!
It’s being so n**r.
wh*t m*kes ’em so d**r.
Was this the apple,then,your mother’s breast,
Which father thought was his to oft caress?
And when,in deprived rage,you bit to test,
In answering rage he vowed to you harass.
So then you learned that you could hate as well,
For punishment struck hard in your small heart.
Your memory was unworded,could not tell;
Though pain and anguish made your soft skin smart.
As unknown as the journey to your birth
As shocking as the grief of unmeant wrong..
As frightening as the gauging of your worth
As sudden as the ending of a song.
Impossible to foretell or to prepare;
The ambivalence of our love is hard to bear
“And how do you know that you’re mad? “To begin with,” said the Cat, “a dog’s not mad. You grant that?” I suppose so, said Alice. “Well then,” the Cat went on, “you see a dog growls when it’s angry, and wags it’s tail when it’s pleased. Now I growl when I’m pleased, and wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore I’m mad.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass
http://creativesomething.net/post/55508909341/the-link-between-depression-and-creativity-
We’d prefer not to have it but there may be evolutionary reasons for depresssion.It may serve a purpose but it shouldnot go on too long.Gwyneth Lewis the national poet of Wales has suffered severe depression.. read her book,sunbathing in the rain.It’s very good
The article I have linked to above is well worth reading when you have some energy… who knows where it may lead?
While girls are born with ovaries replete
And only must each moon let one release
In contrast men are fast and incomplete;
So many sperm are fighting for their feast.
The overspill of nature ,profligate,
condemns vast numbers daily to their death.
And of the one success, men may debate
Of whom is father to the new born breath.
Why this abundance and this frequent loss?
How nature provides much in rich excess;
Is even pre-conception a mere toss?
Shall chance favour the slower much the less?
While men pour out their wealth and are filled up,
Women wait with patience for one drop
I have nothing against doctors except they don’t always know that much about any one topic and some are not good with what they call mental illness, which I think is partly caused by modern society and individualism and people moving around for economic reasons; also working too much.And loss of meaning in one’s life.And shame.
http://brucelevine.net/how-7-historic-figures-overcame-depression-without-doctors/
This is fascinating.I see Abraham Lincoln believed his life had an important purpose.Maybe all our lives do ,even when we may not know what that is.So we must not give up and moreover we should be more tolerant of other’s occasional bursts of pain and anguish.
This writer Bruce Levine is worth studying if you have the time… He believes we should all get more engaged with society and be less passive.
Nature is a great healer and one people in cities may miss out on.
In the North we had the heather moors
How does your handwriting look now-
Like an inky beetle crawling across white paper
following a map or wandering haphazardly
Across some page?
From colored inner space come different dreams,
And images swimming within inner seas,
But, essentially, it’s love that fills our hearts,
Directs the movements of our hands.
Yet love can twist,stretch, bend and snap.
Sometimes love fails,
Sometimes love wounds,
Sometimes love gives pain Oh,no!
Oh, my sweet Love…
But deep inside,good will prevails.
Good will come again..
I do not doubt.
Don’t doubt,my love.
So lovely
I
I never know what clothes to wear
I wish I could socialise bare
A capito ad calcem
I know not to waltz in.
So shall we stay in and play fair?
“A capito ad calcem” means ” from head to heel”.
So you can see capital punishment probably meant beheading
I don’t know him though I have met his eyes.
I never had sex though I have been penetrated by guilt.
I have been engaged but never kept.
I did catch a cold but I had not hunted it down.
I like cats but only socraticly
Stan had decided to do some baking.
The larder was empty
the cupboard was bare
he looked in the cake tin
but nothing was lurking there
Stan had flour,eggs and sugar and of course milk and butter.Emile was under the table waiting for something to drip out of the bowl!He loved baking days.
Stan had bought a load of blackberries in the market so he was thinking of blackberry tarts,blackberry crumble..
He picked up the bag which seemed very heavy.Putting his hand in …..he pulled out a Blackberry!
He went to the market
to buy me some fruit
and now he’s got Blackberries
he’s going to shoot!
Annie his next door neighbour was coming to the back door.”What’s up ,Petal?”
“Oh,dear.I seem to have made a category error.”Stan answered philosophically.”Well what category would you put me into?” she asked petulantly.
“Why are you so egocentric ?Not everything is about you!”He said fluently.
“Well if I’m narcissistic it’s because my infant grandiosity was ruptured too suddenly and I was not held and contained in a suitable manner.”
“You’ve been reading that Wilfred Bion again.” Stan said admiringly.”No,not just him.It’s some American chap as well .Would you like to read it?”
“No,thanks,I’m finding Julia Segal is more than enough for me.I find Bion is a bit too mystical.I don’t think I can approach you without memory or desire.To be honest,without memory or desire I wouldn’t want to approach you.”
“Wow ” she said stupidly,her large green eyes staring avidly upon him inviting him to fall into their salty sea like depths.
“Shall I ring 999?I can’t think of anything to say.I’m lost for words.”
“Perhaps you have reached that mystical spot beneath language mostly only known to babies,the mad, or meditators?”
“well,I do feel a bit of madness today.”
“Is that why you have purple and orange eyeshadow on clahing with your alarazin crimson lipstick and your light beige, but not too light, foundation by Lancome of Brixton and Blackheath,Paris,Rome,and London?”
“I suppose so.” she replied indifferently.I feel as if I’m behind a glass wall.”
“Oh,don’t worry.That’s the new window!” Stan explained courteously.”You really are behind a glass wall.”
“You’ve been reading schizoid processes again on Yahoo,”
“Yes,” she admitted her face blushing violently.”It’s those new people who’ve moved in across the road.They are both psychoanalysts so I wanted to feel up to their level of knowledge.”
“I didn’t know they were psychoanalysts.How did you find out?”
“Well,first of all,there were two large sofas, and then hundreds of knitting needles and a lorryful of wool.And I thought,”Hello,hello,It must be one of Anna Freud’s followers.”
“So have you met them?” he asked laconically?
“Yes”,she confessed animatedly .I went over and said,
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
“And what did he say?”
“Are you all mad round here?”
“So I thought,”You’re not getting hold of me that easily.””
“So I said “I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m am an admirer of Melanie Klein,”
“Oh,how did they react to that?”Stan quizzzed her jovially.
“He was so rude.He said,
“Are you telling me you’re a lesbian as well as a lunatic?”
“Oh,dear.No wonder your make up is all running off your face and disappearing down your cleavage.Why don’t you pop upstairs and have a bath?”
“Well it’s either that or ringing 999”
“My self is totally divided.”
“Into equal parts?” “I can’t say” she murmured.”Oh,well” said Stan “you sit there with Emile and I shall make a Victoria sponge and a lemon drizzle cake without the lemon…I’ve only got bananas and they don’t drizzle.
“Why not adapt to reality and make a banana loaf?”
“Is that wise?” Stan enquired.”Wise or not,it seems to make sense.” she whispered coyly.”Get a move on or Mary will be back on her Raleigh shopper bicycle and there’ll be no cake for tea.”Thank you,honey.”Stan replied.
“I am filled with memory and desire.””And quite right too,”mioawed Emile from his basket.”I’m like that every night!””And so are all of us,”Annie twittered on one of Stan’s blackberries
You play on the clarinet;
I play my old cello.
Your music is so poignant;
My music is mellow.
I can’t play from your music;
You cannot play from mine.
Our music must be transposed,
But will never sound the same.
I have longer fingers.
You have bigger hands.
You play some from memories
which I don’t understand.
I play from my own history,
You compose your own.
You have tortured feelings,
which I have rarely known.
Would you play my music?
Then it must be transposed;
but we can’t transpose our feelings,
Unless we are shown
By some blesses vision
From the dark unknown.
I love the music that you play.
I know well you love mine.
But can we play together
In some meaningful design?
Transposing keys and feelings
Is an arduous lifetime task;
Much easier to play pretend
and never,never ask.
I cannot share your lifetime hurts
and you cannot share mine.
Is it easier to share happiness
and love of the divine?
Oh,play your poignant music for me
with your meditative art.
I shall listen with my ears.
I shall listen with my heart.
Then I shall respond to you;
My instrument is here.
I am playing quite new music,
I feel you drawing near.
Together we are moved to play
A completely new design.
I seem to know your feelings
And I can hear that you feel mine.
Together we now make a work
For torment’s sweet relief;
Though this music is so tragic,
Its design has brought me peace.
Play on,play on,for now I know
I begin to understand,
without more words or gestures,
but those from your curved hands.
How my heart sings 